


Increased Potency

by jennacide



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (I'm Going To Edit These Tags Later), (Once I Get The Next Few Chapters Up), (There Will Be Sexytimes!), Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Bartender Bucky, Blowjobs, Drug Use, Kissing, M/M, Teacher Steve, drug mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 21:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5514368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennacide/pseuds/jennacide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A night out with friends quickly snowballs into something that Steve doesn't know if he can, or wants to, control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Increased Potency

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! So this is a story about AU teacher!Steve meeting slightly younger bartender!Bucky, a bad boy who tickles Steve's fancy in all the right ways. I've never written a story with plot AND multiple chapters, but this is going to be my first try. I'm really, REALLY excited and I hope that you guys are too!

“Come on, Steve, you  _ need _ to get out every once in a while. You practically live in your classroom, man. Come get a beer with us; it would be  _ good _ for you.”   
  
Steve Rogers glances up from the worksheets he’s correcting to the man talking to him. “Sorry, Tony, I can’t,” he apologizes, wrinkling his eyebrows and gesturing to the stack of papers in front of him. “I’ve got so much work to do.”

Rolling his eyes and leaning in slightly to Steve’s desk, Tony Stark snarks, “Yeah, on a  _ Friday. _ ” He snatches the remaining stack of homework from Steve’s desk and tauntingly holds it up above his head. “What’cha gon’ do, huh?” he teases. 

Steve glowers up at his coworker, placing his pen down gently on his desk. “Give them back,” he orders, fluidly standing up and holding out his large hand in one smooth motion.

Tony falters, stepping back at Steve’s sudden height increase. Voice steady, he walks back a few more paces, slowly bringing the clutch of papers to his chest. “I’ll give them back if you promise to come out with me, Bruce, ‘n Clint tonight.”

Steve mutters under his breath at the way Tony’s practically  _ cowering  _ from him, and pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation, bending his head down. He peers back up over his nose at Tony. “If I do, can I get my kids’ homework back?” He straightens up his back. “I do actually care about getting their grades in when I say they will be.”

“Yeah, of course. ‘M not a liar.”

“Fine, then. I’ll come out with you guys.” Steve again holds his hand out. “Now may I  _ please _ have them back?”

Tony grins ruefully at him and reluctantly delivers the ream of paper to its rightful owner. “No backing out on us now, ya hear?”

Steve snatches the papers back in a huff and opens up his briefcase with his other hand, carefully depositing the sheets within before closing it up again. He addresses Tony, who’s made his way to the door of Steve’s classroom with his hand resting on the knob: “Yeah, I’ll be there.” 

Steve absently listens with half an ear to Tony’s directions. They’re all meeting up at some new bar on the west side of town, “Poison”, or some other name like that. He waves Tony out the door, assuring him again that he won’t stand them up. Steve slumps down again in his chair the second his friend’s out the door, dropping his head down into his hands. 

_ Fuck, _ he thinks.  _ I really don’t wanna do this. _ But he knows he has to. Tony was right- he  _ does _ practically live in his classroom. He tries to spend as much time away from home as possible, getting to work early every morning and leaving later than even the custodians. But how is he supposed to explain that whenever he’s home, he feels the most awful sense of doom? How, when sitting alone, loneliness slithers up into his mind and chokes him until he feels like he’s suffocating? Spending time at school helps, because he can imagine that there’s someone,  _ something, _ waiting for him at home, but when he’s actually there, nothing is able to distract from the obvious: that Steve’s  _ alone. _ He’s alone, and can’t imagine a life where he’s not.

It’s not that Steve doesn’t  _ want _ someone to share his life with, but he’s just never been able to find that right person. Twenty-nine years old with only two relationships under his belt means that Steve isn’t even quite sure  _ how _ to get into the dating scene. His friends, Tony in particular, are always trying to set him up with their own single friends, or convince Steve to let people buy drinks for him at bars. Steve’s always adamantly refused the drinks, but has reluctantly agreed to go out on dates in the past.

Once, he went out to dinner with a woman named Natasha, who was actually his buddy Clint’s ex-girlfriend. Clint was happily married and hadn’t been with Natasha since their sophomore year of college, but Steve still had felt a little weird about going out with her. It started off awkward due to his worries, but Natasha was very easy-going and friendly. They ended up having a fun time, and when he dropped her off at home, Steve asked her, in an albeit roundabout manner, if she wanted to go out again sometime. But Natasha, who had misunderstood and thought he was asking if he could come inside, was very enthusiastic about getting Steve naked and told him as much. Steve was so mortified that he’d stammered out some lie about needing to get home to water his plants and took off down her walkway to his car, nearly forgetting how to drive in his haste to get away. He called her a few days later to apologize for how he’d acted, but she never called him back. After that experience, he refused to go out with anyone for almost a year. 

Sighing, Steve lifts his head from his hands and stands up, grabbing his leather briefcase and keys as he goes. He flicks the lights to his classroom off as he walks out the door, shutting it behind him and quickly locking it. He trudges to his car, trying to convince himself that this will be fun.  _ A night out is exactly what I need,  _ he thinks. He swallows around the lump growing in his throat.  _ Exactly what I need. _

Twenty-five minutes later and Steve’s pulling into the small driveway behind a brick building that has a simple green sign stating “Poison” mounted above the front door. He climbs out if his car and locks it, walking around to the front of the building and trying not to drag his feet.

“Steve!” his friends chorus happily when Steve drops down onto a bar stool next to Tony. 

“Hey, guys,” Steve grins back. He shifts in his seat to turn towards the bartender, finding a young man already facing him with a cocky grin on his face. Steve’s request for a beer falters on his lips as he watches the other man’s move:

“Welcome to Poison, what’s yours?”

“I- uh-,” Steve stutters, not entirely sure what the question was. All he’s sure of is that everything about this boy is causing him to short-circuit, from way he’s casually leaning forward, resting on his forearms, to the chin length hair escaping from a loose knot at the back of his head. Steve’s eyes dip back to the brunet’s mouth as he starts talking again; Steve hears nothing other than static. That is, until the bartender snaps his fingers in front of Steve’s face.

“I- I’m sorry, what?” Steve asks, jolting out of his reverie, wholly embarrassed.

“I asked, ‘What d’you want to drink?’,” bun-boy replies, red lips still curved in a sly smile. He jerks his finger towards Tony, Bruce, and Clint, who are all busy talking about something or other. “I figured a beer, ‘cause your friends said they were waiting for you.”

“Uh, yeah, a beer,” Steve agrees distractedly. A beer actually isn’t want he wants; what he wants is this kid, who doesn’t look older than maybe twenty-one, twenty-two. He has the urge to  _ know _ this guy, know every little thing about him, a feeling that he hasn’t had since….  _ Well… _ Steve shakes his head, clearing his thoughts.  _ A name would be a good place to start. _ “I’m Steve,” he says when the man comes back with his beer.

“Bucky,” the brunet responds, handing over Steve’s drink. “Oh, just a second,” he apologizes, noticing another patron flagging him down.

Steve brings the bottle up to his mouth and tips it back, taking a sip. He watches Bucky out of the corner of his eye as the young man chats with customers and mixes drinks, pouring varying amounts of liquor in small glasses and handing them over as well as continually passing up beers to those who come up to collect them. “Just a second” turns into half a dozen minutes, which turn into twenty. Steve’s turned to join his friends’ conversation, but is still aware of Bucky’s movements in his peripheral vision.

_C’mon, Steve, stop this shit,_ he thinks, drawing his attention away from the curve of Bucky’s jaw and back to what Bruce is saying for the fifth time. _You’re being a creepy asshole._ And Steve is so confused as to why he’s acting this way. He’s never been the kind of guy to, well, obsess over complete strangers, let alone a bartender whose job is to be charming and engaging. _He literally only asked me what I wanted to drink._ _Nothing even remotely suggestive about that._ But he can’t get that shit-eating grin that Bucky tossed him out of his mind. Chancing a glance over at the brunet, Steve checks to see if he’s smiling that way at anyone else. His heart skips a beat when he notices it’s not there. Bucky’s grin is cocky as hell, but not sultry in the slightest. _Stop it, that doesn’t mean anything,_ he tells himself.  

Still, he just can’t tear his gaze away. Bucky’s movements are lithe, each action part of an intricate dance to music that only Bucky can hear. Steve watches as Bucky flirts with women and men alike, his reward being an extra two or three dollars with the total that he can slip into the back pocket of his faded jeans. The lean muscles in his arms ripple slightly with each movement he makes, and his large hands, when not handling drinks, have the same expressive tone as his voice. Steve can hear every time Bucky cracks a joke or laughs in response to one, and the rich sound of his voice gives Steve goosebumps. Bucky’s brown hair keeps falling out of his bun, too, and Steve desperately wishes he could fix it for him.

Steve’s still listening to his buddies, and though he’s not contributing too much to the conversation, they’re all willing to let it slide. He thinks it’s because they’re just grateful that he’s actually out in public, doing normal things, like getting a beer with friends.  _ And checking out the hotties _ . Steve turns slightly to glance at Bucky again, but the brunet’s already standing off to his side, grinning at Steve like the little shit he must be. Steve chokes on the sip of beer he’s downing when Bucky speaks:

“What’cha looking at there, Steve?” He tilts his head to one side and smirks.

Red-faced, Steve wipes the spilled bit of beer from his chin with his sleeve. “N-Nothing,” he mumbles, embarrassed to be caught staring. He looks at his friends, who are luckily still engaged in a heated debate about whether or not sports should be considered a larger priority than the sciences. 

“Really?” Bucky asks, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Um, no, I was just looking at…,” the blond starts, then lets his words trail off. He meant to gesture towards the rowdy group Bucky had just spent the last hour catering to, but they weren’t there any longer. 

Bucky chuckles, apparently used to this kind of thing. “No harm, no foul, huh?” he jokes. Noticing Steve’s nearly empty bottle, he asks, “Want me to get another one for ya?” Steve nods and Bucky pulls one up from behind the counter, popping the cap off in the same movement. He hands it over. 

“Thanks.” Steve takes a drink, but again he’s distracted by just the way that Bucky  _ moves _ . He notices that Bucky’s staring at him intensely and begins to feel prickly. Maybe this is Bucky’s payback for Steve staring at  _ him _ for so long. “This is a cool song,” he blurts out, bringing up his hands to point randomly into the air. “What is it?”

“‘Electric Feel’ by MGMT,” Bucky responds, eyes still locked in on Steve’s face. He leans in closer. “You’re pretty cute,” he observes bluntly before leaning back out again. “I mean, for an old guy,” he adds.

Steve’s eyes widen and he raises his eyebrows. “An  _ old guy _ ?” he asks incredulously. “What the- How old do you think I am?” He chooses to ignore the “you’re cute” comment. He very easily could have misheard him; all sorts of things could sound like that.

Bucky shrugs, absently shredding a napkin between his fingers. “I dunno, like forty.” He glances up at Steve and Steve can see the little glint of humor in his eyes that lets the blond know that the brunet’s…  _ flirting _ ?

_ You wanna play it that way, fine, let’s play.  _ Slapping a look of indignation on his face, Steve responds, “I’ll have you know I’m only twenty-nine.” He takes a sip of beer and nonchalantly continues, “Not that I’d expect a nineteen year old to be able to tell the age of anyone over twenty-five.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to look indignant. “Nineteen?” he splutters. “I’m twenty-four!”

Steve raises his eyebrows again. “Twenty-four and a bartender?”   
  
Bucky glares. “Yeah, got a problem with that?”

Nervous about this sudden development of anger (and remembering why he doesn’t try to make connections with people,  _ god dammit _ ), Steve backpedals. “What, no, of course I don’t have a  _ problem _ with that!” he exclaims sincerely. And it’s true. Steve could honestly care less what people did with their own lives. As long as it didn’t hurt him, why should it matter?

Bucky de-bristles, and Steve can see that little spark flare up again. “Well, what about  _ you _ ?” Bucky asks. “What’s a cute twenty-nine year old like you whiling his life away with?”   


_ Cute _ . There’s that word again and Steve still isn’t sure how to address it, so he elects to ignore it. “Me? I’m a teacher. Sophomore world history at Shield High School.”   


Bucky’s eyes widen. “Shield High School?” he asks excitedly. “Home of the Avengers?”   


Steve nods. “Yeah, why?”   


“I graduated from Shield!” He peers in closer at Steve’s face, as though trying to place it with a class. “Did I have you for a teacher?”

Steve furrows his brow and thinks about when he started working there. “Nope, I don’t think so,” he admits, taking another swig of his beer. “I started in twenty-eleven, and you graduated in…?”

“Two thousand nine,” Bucky supplies. He glances down at Steve’s friends then back to Steve, eyes wide. “D’you think I coulda had any of  _ them _ as my teachers?”

“Let’s ask,” Steve grins, turning from Bucky to his pals. “Hey, guys,” he starts, raising his voice. “Ever had this kid as a student?” He jerks his head towards Bucky, who nervously chuckles. 

Bruce, the oldest and thereby having taught the longest, squints his eyes and looks at Bucky. “I think if you cut the hair off and get rid of some of those muscles…. Yeah!” he exclaims. “James, right? James Barnes?”

Bucky grimaces at the name. “I actually just go by ‘Bucky’ now,” he replies. “And you’re… Hu-, I mean, Dr. Banner,” he finishes, turning a shade of red that rivals Steve’s own tomato color of earlier. 

Bruce chuckles. “Yeah, ‘Hulk’. Luckily I don’t get that way anymore. Started therapy a few years ago; it really helped my anger issues.” He glances at Tony.

Steve, noticing Bucky’s prolonged embarrassment, attempts to make him feel better; he has the oddest desire to protect this kid. “Hey, it’s okay. We all have our own little nicknames for each other.” Motioning to Clint and Tony, who  _ still _ haven’t stopped arguing, even though they’re now fighting around Bruce, who’s uncomfortably sitting between the two, Steve continues, “Tony’s ‘Iron Man’, because they say (and we agree) that he’s such a callous bastard he must be a robot. Then Clint, who you wouldn’t have had- he started the same year as me- is ‘Hawkeye’, due to him being the best archery coach the school’s ever had.”

“And  _ Steve’s _ ‘Captain America’,” Bruce interjects teasingly, “because if he had his way, he’d teach American history exclusively.”

Steve shrugs and takes another drink. “What can I say? Something about the World War II era really speaks to me.”

Bruce looks at Bucky quizzically. “If I remember correctly, you had a nickname of your own.”

Bucky laughs and blushes. “Haha, yeah. My friends called me ‘The Winter Soldier’.” At Steve’s confused look he explains, “I didn’t do too many sports in high school except for winter skiing. Apparently I’d get so cutthroat durin’ competitions that I’d literally act like I was in a warzone.”

Steve nods, pretending to pay attention as Bruce and Bucky continue to discuss what Shield was like pre-2010. His eyes roam over Bucky’s face. When he saw Bucky blush… Steve shakes his head.  _ C’mon, just… normalize. _

An hour and several more beers later, Clint’s standing up and informing them that he needs to get home in one piece tonight; tomorrow is his daughter’s first ballet recital and he promised to help her do her nails and hair. Shortly after, Tony claims he too needs to call it an early night. However, Steve doesn’t miss the look he throws Bruce as he’s leaving. Bruce waits the appropriate amount of time before also excusing himself, pulling out his phone and hurrying out the door. Steve looks around the room; now only he and Bucky are the only ones left at the bar. There’s a small handful of people scattered around the room, but the establishment is new enough and far enough off the beaten path that it’s not too busy, even at ten o’clock at night.

Bucky catches Steve’s eye and nods in the direction Tony and Bruce left. “What’s their deal? Are they, like….” He holds his hand up to his mouth and imitates sucking a dick. 

Steve ignores the imagery that pops into his head at Bucky’s suggestive act and instead takes a drink of his third beer. “Honestly, I’m not really sure,” he admits, setting the near-empty bottle down in front of him. “Tony’s a total ladies man- or so he claims- but I don’t think I’ve ever seen Bruce with, well,  _ anyone.  _ I think for the longest time his anger issues kept him from really having a relationship. And Tony’s just a narcissistic ass. I’ve always kind of figured there was something going on between them. Maybe not a full-on  _ relationship _ , but they definitely fuck around together.”

Bucky takes a sip of his own beer, the one he’s been quietly nursing for the last hour, and looks up at Steve through his dark eyelashes. “What about you?” Steve’s heart skips a beat when he notices Bucky’s eyes have that little glint in them again and his lips are tilted up in a cocky grin. 

“What about me, what?” Steve stammers out, feeling his face turn red. 

Bucky chuckles lowly and leans across the bar so his and Steve’s faces are only inches apart. His breath washes over Steve’s face when he opens his mouth to speak, and the scent of wintermint toothpaste mixed with beer has never smelled this good in his life. “D’you have anyone that you, as you so charmingly put it, ‘fuck around with’?” Bucky’s mouth is now so close to Steve’s that he’s slowly forgetting what it means to inhale and exhale.

“N- no, I don’t,” he manages. He licks his lips. Bucky’s grey eyes are staring into Steve’s own blues with such an intensity that makes the ball of desire coiling in Steve’s gut clench-  _ hard _ . Swallowing roughly, he inches his own face forward closer to Bucky’s. His own lips part slightly, mirroring the brunet’s, and he can see that while Bucky’s eyes contain the most beautiful shades of grey he’s ever seen, his pupils are also blown up enough to cover nearly all the iris, making them appear nearly black.

“Why is that?” Bucky murmurs, eyes sliding shut another fraction of an inch. He tilts his head slightly, angling it with Steve’s.

“Jus’ haven’t been lookin’, I guess,” Steve breathes back. His and Bucky’s mouths are so close together that Steve can feel the feather-light gusts of air that Bucky’s unevenly exhaling. “I haven’t-” He bites his lip- “felt the need to.” He slowly lets his bottom lip slide out of the loose grip his teeth had them in, and shyly smiles. “Maybe I was right to have not been lookin’.”

“Maybe you were,” Bucky whispers, and the infinitesimal gap between their lips closes effortlessly, both bodies unconsciously coming together. 

The ball of passion that’s been steadily building up in Steve’s belly for the past few hours finally snaps. Thick tendrils of warmth snake their way through his body, all the way down to the tips of his fingers and toes. He feels tingly all over, and he doesn’t know if it’s from the beer, Bucky’s delicious lips, or a combination of them both. 

Bucky moans slightly and shifts his jaw so that he can gently lick Steve’s mouth open. Steve shudders and moans in reply, turning his head so that their mouths can slot together. Bucky tastes like beer and mint and cigarettes and everything that Steve never thought he’d be desperately trying to get more of. Their tongues softly beat against the other’s, and Steve finds his left hand desperately clutching Bucky’s right. 

Breathing harshly, Bucky eventually breaks the kiss, and he and Steve gaze at each other in a daze. “That was, um,” Steve croaks, too far gone to even feel embarrassed that everyone in the bar is staring at him. He hears one woman let out a whoop, but it barely registers. He’s acutely aware of the erection pressing into the thigh of his khakis, and, for the briefest of seconds, imagines what Bucky’s mouth would feel like stretched around it.

“Haha, yeah,” Bucky chuckles back, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck and looks up at Steve through his lusciously thick eyelashes. “Sorry about tha’,” he apologizes. 

Steve squints at Bucky and spies a familiar gleam in his eyes. “No, you’re not!” he exclaims, and Bucky breaks into a dazzling smile. 

“Ya got me!” Grinning flirtatiously, Bucky continues, “I swear to you, I don’t make a habit of makin’ out with strange men I meet at work.” 

“Yeah, well, I don’t tend to be kissed by attractive men  _ anywhere _ , especially at work, God forbid,” Steve chuckles, shaking his head. He downs the last of his beer and begins to slide off his barstool. “It was fun though, I’ll give ya that.” 

“Hey, wait, before ya go,” Bucky interrupts, and pulls a pen from underneath the bar and hastily scribbles some numbers on a napkin. “Here,” he says, and hands it to Steve with a wink. “Call me sometime, okay?” He slings a towel over his shoulder and crosses his arms at Steve, nodding his head approvingly. “I wouldn’t mind getting together again.”

Steve grins widely, nodding his head back at Bucky. “Yes, definitely. Call. Yes, I will.” He begins to back out of the bar. “Soon- I will- soon. Okay.” Laughing nervously, he waves a final goodbye to Bucky and quickly ducks out the door. 

On his drive home, Steve thinks back on the events of the night. It really had turned out to be a wonderful evening.  _ I’ll have to thank Tony _ , he thinks, and smiles wryly to himself.  _ That’s really gonna boost his ego. Not that it needs it.  _

Lying in bed later on, Steve touches his fingers to his lips. He can still feel Bucky pressing up against him, and his hot breath heavy against his mouth. Sighing blissfully, Steve turns onto his side and snuggles into his pillow, pulling his covers up over his face. His smile’s so big he’s worried he’ll blind anyone looking. His last thought before drifting into unconsciousness is that for the first time in a long time, his house is finally beginning to feel like home.

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! Man, I have been working on this story since AUGUST. Yeah, I know, long time for such a small product. However, I started right after I moved and then I fell into bit of a bad depression that I'm just starting to get out of. I couldn't work on fics for the longest time and I'm so GLAD that I'm finally able to again!   
> Not quite sure where the story's gonna head, but I have a general idea, so I'll see you guys when the next chapter's up!!


End file.
